


Treasure in a Devil's World

by Marsiposa



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Doggy Style, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Reader is a virtuoso, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, clitoral stimulation, reader is female
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8761132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsiposa/pseuds/Marsiposa
Summary: A year ago, you tripped into the mountain with nothing but a guitar strapped to your back, and your dreams of being famous to keep you company in all the time spent alone. Now you're something of a novelty. A famous singer in a place where death and despair runs rampant among monsterkind. They all forgive you for being human so long as you keep singing with that pretty little voice, and strum your guitar to will the dark spirits away.But that's not ALL they want you for. Every monster down here really truly loves you. And now they're gonna show it.So...who's next?Basically a smut-filled story where you decide which Underfell character preys upon dear reader in each chapter that follows. Leave a comment accordingly. Tags will be added along the way





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my smutfest extravaganza! A way to get my sexual creativity out through writing. I have a quotev profile and some of my work has been deleted because it was "too explicit," just because it alluded to bedroom stuff. But here all bets are off. Basically you just leave a comment saying which character you'd like to see fuck the reader. That's it. We won't go into kinks or situations or anything like that because that'll remain up to me. But don't worry, I have an open mind. And a lust to sin.
> 
> I plan to cover just about every character with no real sequence in mind. One character in particular I have saved for last as the final conquest of sorts, but who knows if I'll stick to that, or even switch it to someone else.
> 
> So yeah! Let's get to it then.

Another cold night down by the riverbank. Small bits of ice floated under your boots as they tapped at the moist earth in rhythm with this curious little song you had made up on a whim.

It wasn’t genius or anything. Nothing worth remembering for sure. It was something you had tried to write on your own only to fail miserably somewhere along the way. Furrowed eyebrows, tongue slightly peeking out the corner of your mouth as you reached toward the headstock and tuned one of the strings, you withheld a swear word at the thought that all your energy spent thus far was wasted.

And that, it wasn’t, but you still were frustrated nonetheless. Words kept trying to come together only to fall apart just when you had matched an octave to them. An emotionless mess, a composition that droned and either sounded too much like something that already existed or like a stuck record of staleness and melodrama. A lazier part of you would've insisted that you weren't running low on material at all, and this was just aimless paranoia on your end. You didn’t _need_ to make your own songs, it’d say, so why put in the effort? But the present you reminded of how your memories only ran so far, and those songs you performed that belonged to others from the surface would eventually run out. Even now, with time crawling forward and zero access to radios, your pot was going dry. It was a bad feeling.

Another string of melodious vowels and consonants that tapered off into milky fog fell from your lips whilst wearing a cap of insistence. You would never grow tired of this. This is what you always wanted to do, and only here in a world inhabited by something that wasn't humans could that be made possible, it seemed. You were a singer. Well, you’d been a singer all your life, but you had never been _paid_ to be one. Nowadays you could stand in any area and sing your favorite songs and eager monsters would crowd around you, listening, throwing the occasional dollar, their distractions and woes now afterthoughts as they exclaimed "Come see here, Y/N is playing!" Sometimes you were approached by someone with a business under their belt who wanted you to "Be there on my stage Monday night and wear something lovely," in order to appease their mass of guests. A generous stipend was always promised. It felt so wonderful to be adored for doing something that _you_ adored. You wouldn't trade it for anything. Falling down the mountain had been the best accident of your life, and luck had seen to it that the instrument in your hands now had neighbored your descent.

Perhaps in order to keep it going forever, you just needed to find a muse?

You sighed, giving up on the would-be composition, the acoustic twang of the thickest string echoing its final note into the woods until it was silence, save for the lullaby of moving water down below. You scooted back in the snow, standing up straight. Your legs and bottom were damp, and it was discomfort you'd long grown accustomed to. You turned on your heel and challenged the darkness with the imaginary compass in your head that was absolute nonsense and had nothing to do with real directions. You just _knew_ this place now. Forward led back into the village. Left and right were merely snowcapped trees that went on and on until hitting cave walls. Suffice to say you'd never found the time to feel claustrophobic in a place like this.

As you placed the guitar and pick in its case, swung it over your back, and collected a small bag of crumpled notes with lyrics scrawled on them, you began the journey home. 'Home' being the top floor at Snowed Inn, where the rabbit in front had eventually stopped charging you for your overnight stays so long as you "Just kept being you," as she so eloquently put it. She really seemed to like when you came down from your room and into the lobby, already wearing the guitar and singing any random song pulled from the vault as you made your way outside. 

It got a bit lonely here sometimes. It was nice that everyone admired you, and in the past you couldn't say you knew the feeling of having 'fans.' But you knew next to nothing about this bunch, only remembering their names in passing and their relations to person X or Y. Their world was ravaged, having been run by an inept king for far too long. But at least you were able to win Asgore's respect by playing for him in his kingdom now and then. Only after the first instance did everyone stop with the hunger in their eyes and attempts at killing you. Well okay, the hunger was still present. But you'd chalk that up to them just being monsters. It was in their biology to bloodlust after humans.

This was a night so much like all other nights that you imagined another year now then it would be undistinguished from the rest. It wasn’t special, or unique. There wasn’t even a breeze.

But amidst your carousel of thoughts and dreariness was this feeling you couldn't shake. Like eyes were watching you. And not just one pair but a million. When you were on stage performing it felt something like this as you could never see your audience if the lighting was low enough. But this felt ominous by comparison, and sent chills down your spine.

Yet when you looked back over your shoulder, or at those black sheets of nothingness left and right, you saw only darkness, snow, and more darkness.

It was probably nothing.

Just keep on walking home.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who's gonna give it to Reader first?


	2. Sans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Tourier and Idjit.
> 
> Sans finds you and fucks your mouth.
> 
> This is an appetizer of sorts. No intercourse, just oral. 
> 
> Warning: Slight dub-con

In windless times such as these, you sometimes cooed a soft melody to yourself in the absence of sound. Nothing so loud that it would disturb slumbering monsters, but not so quiet that your voice was lost to the symphony of snow crunching under your shoes.

You hunched forward a little, the weight of the guitar feeling strangely heavy on your spine. Your hands sought for warmth in the bowels of your pockets. The tune of your song became somewhat strained.

That feeling was still there. The feeling that someone was there with you, swiftly giving chase. Watching you. Near or afar, you definitely weren't alone. You just couldn't be.

You had adapted these instincts in the beginning, a year ago when you first took your tumble and fell a million miles toward the center of the universe. Back then all they wanted was to spill your blood. Just a dirty human was all you were, disrupting the peace even if you had never meant harm to begin with. Monsters and humans shared an unforgiving history, and though that took place years before you were born, you paid the price by existing. You were punched, kicked, cut and knocked down. Thankfully they had all taken a wide step back when your defense became singing. But those memories still hurt and haunted you, alongside the notion that if you were to ever lose your relationship with music, they might pluck those mindsets up from retirement, never ceasing until you were but a frozen corpse.

And then amidst all the ugly branching thoughts you heard it clear as a bell. A footstep heavier than yours traversing the path from a direction you couldn't process as it was all muddled by mismatched adrenaline. You spun around so quickly the guitar almost collided with your front. Your eyes were narrowed, glaring ahead. Humming had ended as though someone had taken scissors to a wire.

"Hello?" you called meekly, and it was the first word you spoke that night without attaching harmony to it. It was just you, in all your raw uncertainty and fear. You tried to pick apart the shadows up ahead like paper mache, but were fruitless. It was simply too dark. Whatever sauntered within them was left up to one’s nightmarish imagination.

Perhaps the best thing would be to just go on and get to Snowed Inn sooner rather than later. Why wait to be eaten when you had the option of taking a rain check?

Hesitantly you averted toward the village again, not terribly willing to turn a blind eye. You could see the shops ahead, the Christmas tree prim and lined with gifts in the center of the plaza, its lights having long been shut off. You took a deep breath and started walking.

From behind you,

"who told ya to stop?"

Slowly your head moved to gaze at the darkness from whence you had retreated, and from its center a new figure emerged. Something shorter than you, but with horizontal advantage. Round. Two small white blips for eyes that barely illuminated the rest of him.

He walked closer still until he shared the same axis of light as you, down beneath a lone and flickering street lamp that was crooked like a bull had smashed into it. He made his identity known: A chubby skeleton clad in red and black, sporting a single gold fang.

You knew this face. Relief was not what you felt next.

"Oh, Sans, it's you," your hand found your chest and you gave a long sigh, feigning comfort in his presence. "You had me really scared there."

"yea i could tell," he kept on walking in your direction, only halting when he was a mere foot away.

"but that don't give ya permission to stop, does it?" he sneered at you, testy per usual.

_Stop?_

Right…he meant your humming. A nervous chuckle was your only response. Having lived here long enough, you vaguely knew of Sans. His younger brother was head of the Royal Guard, and strictly loyal to Asgore in every way that mattered. Sans was just...well...he was more than just the smaller sibling. Rather, he was a lot of things. You had seen him sell hot dogs as a vendor in Hotland. You had spotted him guarding the forest as a sentry, in search of more humans like you. And amongst idle gossip one monster claimed that he even killed people if you paid him upfront with a fee wearing commas. That last partial fact came to you in an instant, and your chest tightened.

"I'm surprised you didn't hear me back there," you pointed past his skull, back toward the forest. "I was singing a lot down by the water. Trying to write a new song but...I just don't have it in me right now,” you admitted, flashing him apologetic eyes, yet he remained stony. "I hate to disappoint, but that's the way of it. Humming, singing, no matter. I guess tonight is just not my night."

He rubbed his chin between a bony thumb and index finger, calculating something. As he made low, idle sounds, his eyes seemed to track you up and down in molasses fashion. Even when you were the taller one, you felt tinier under his gaze. Spread on a petri dish for him. Vulnerable every which way.

"shame. i would'a liked to hear it for myself. ya got some decent pipes on ya kiddo. though i'm sure i ain't the first monster to tell ya that."

Even when you had grown so used to that brand of throwaway compliments, something about his tone had you redder, all while rubbing an awkward spot behind your head.

"Well thank you, Sans. That's kind."

"yeah no problem."

A tension arose just then, with you both staring at the other and saying nothing further. Eventually you dismissed yourself, clapping your hands together and giving a small bow.

"Well, I was just on my way home. I'll see you later then, yeah?"

You pivoted again, but his voice, dark and low like the pits of Hell, commanded you with newfound authority.

**"n o t    s o    f a s t ."**

Swallowing, you did as you were told and stopped again, turning back slowly. Your breath seized in your throat at the sight of him. His eyes were trained on you with this ferocity you had never witnessed in him before. The darkness did vast amounts to compliment his startling features and so little to ease your nerves. For one reason or the next, in your legs began this tingle.

"Yes sir?"

Something in that manner of addressing him seemed to reach down into the gallows of his soul and set it all ablaze. With a single beckoning finger, he motioned you to come closer, eyes slinking left and right, making note on how no one was present. That no one could see what came next.

"you really don't wanna disappoint me, do ya kiddo?"

Your hands balled into fists. You forced your quivering mouth still. And when had it started quivering?

"N-No, Sans. I would never want that."

His grin, permanent and only able to fluctuate so far, adopted a rather sinister flavor of enthusiasm. In his eyes a fresh glint had formed. He reached out to take your freezing hand, and guided you sideways.

"then follow me."

Heart begging to burst from your chest, you relented to his insistence and accompanied him on a path behind one of the many shops bordering the town, both of you lighter on your feet, tip-toeing in and out of unison. This shop in particular was closed, no one was around and this area was untouched by lamplight. Once you were both hidden by shadow, and your breathing had formed small, shallow puffs of white, he let you go, the feeling of bone on skin running absent.

"Put your guitar over there," he whispered, his gruffness still carrying through as he gestured toward the wooden corner of the building. Reluctantly, you took the guitar case from your back and balanced it against the wall, trying your hardest not to tremble. Trying to convince yourself it was only because you were cold. What was this monster going to do? What if someone had paid him to kill you? All the rumors from before, were they true?

"Sans..."

"shh," he silenced you, his grin growing thin until one could maybe consider it smirking. He reached down to fumble with something unknown. You shook your head, confused.

"W-What's going on?" you too were whispering now. "Why are you...?"

Your words crumbled like cake as you watched him closely. One of the monster’s irises had been replaced by a bloated red orb, the other lost to nothingness. He took the hem of his black sweatpants and slid them further down until they hitched on what appeared to be swollen matter. Momentarily your eyes flicked to his, large with disbelief. His expression, unreadable as it was, was also unrelenting. Moments later, a plump and glowing red erection had sprung from his shorts, pointed in your direction. In need of attention.

"don't disappoint me kiddo," he said, and it was disgustingly fatherly. Your head shook again, but for new reasons. There were neurons firing in your brain, drawing patterns that left you dizzy and seeing colors. Some of them might have triggered a reaction in your own pants that you would never ever freely admit to.

"No, what? I don't underst...why would you-" the defeat in your voice was pathetically evident. "I…mean…I-I...I don't...want...to disa...p-point you..." you couldn't speak coherently at all, still cast with awestruck surprise. He laughed at you, and it was deep. Predatory.

"then get on your knees and perform for good ol' sans, darlin’."

For reasons you would ponder on ‘til the end of time, you walked further more before dropping down as he so demanded, the snow wetting your knees. You licked your lips, looking at him with uncertainty as if to confirm one last time that he was absolutely serious. A strangeness was bathing and brewing in your gut like a witch’s potion gone awry, and just when you had started to wonder what was actually fucking happening, he took the back of your head and pulled you forward. His bony fingers scratched at your scalp. His dick was right before you, almost making you cross-eyed. Most definitely casting a scarlet aura in its wake. Why was magic so bizarre?

He gave you a minute to mentally adjust and then pressed you forward again. This time the head of his cock made contact with your lips. Warm, smooth, and a bead of stickiness clung to the seam in between. You kept them pursed, bashful. Frightened in a way that was almost exhilarating.

"c'mon" he coaxed, his voice dwindling with impatience. "open sesame."

You forced your eyes off his erection to look up at him instead. This view of him from down below excited you somehow. You had to press your legs together.

"S-Sans...?" your voice was embroidered in shock, and hidden in it was a pleading for explanation without the right words in place. Your lips molded the letters of his name right against his ethereal cock, and his brow bone quirked, choreographed with his smile.

The monster then took a handful of your hair and gripped it tight, pulling from the root so hard it hurt. You only meant to emit a quiet grunt of pain, and he wasted no time plunging his length into your mouth. Your eyes flew wide open. Immediately he started making shallow thrusts, a trembling moan collapsing from his teeth. 

"oh yeah..." his head tilted back, and as you glanced back up you could see the dim details of his vertebrae. When you could no longer sustain a whine around his cock, he pulled your hair again, laughing, lazily dropping his skull forward again to look you in the eye. Whatever he saw, he seemed to _really_ like it.

"that's it girl...put that pretty mouth of yours to work."

“Mmm…” your noises insisted protest but your actions contradicted them. You didn’t fight as his thrusts deepened, pistoning the back of your mouth until it started reaching down to your throat. You choked once, twice, your saliva kicking into overdrive as he assaulted your gag reflex. It was a horrible feeling and yet, you felt you didn’t mind nearly as much as you should.

When you whimpered again, he groaned, satisfied that you were being so submissive to him. With your eyes you begged him, _Why me? Why now?_ Between the liquid spooling from your chin and the water rushing to your eyes, Sans seemed to register the unsaid query. He had started to pant. A laugh tumbled through somewhere along the way.

“you have…any…idea…” his sockets creased, “how many monsters down here…want ya…kiddo?”

You hummed against his cock. The tempered pace of his movements began to quicken, the disorientation in your voice having excited him. He took both sides of your head in his large skeletal hands, pushing into your mouth over and over without mercy. He knotted your hair, he pulled at it, he squeezed your skull. The angered curiosity overtook your watery eyes as you glared at him, pretending you weren’t enjoying a single moment of this. Whatever did he _mean?_

“me and the fellas,” he said, words raspy and worn at the edges, his giant red eye lolling at you, “we talk about ya all the time. we share our lil' fantasies...here and there. what we imagine when we hear ya singin’. what we wish we could do to ya.”

Your heart fluttered at the thought, only interrupted by the wet sound of his cock reentering your mouth at a frenzied speed.

”except me…” he corrected, edges of his grin skyrocketing, assuming a carnal expression.

“i told them what i _would_ do to ya.”

And then the thrusts doubled in bravado, just when you hadn’t thought it was possible. You couldn’t breathe and he didn’t care, so long as you pleasured him. Screaming was also prohibited, for all you could do was whine like some little whore. And suck. Half-heartedly accepting your demise, you had begun to suck on him. Your hand even drifted down to an area no monster underground had ever known. Why? What were you _doing?_

“what it means to me, kiddo. that i get to fuck your mouth, right where that pretty voice comes out…ah…!” He gripped your head in his hands with so much strength you thought it might cave, his thrusts now desperate for release, your brain on the cusp of explosion.

“…fuck..!”

Cum shot from his dick and rocketed toward the back wall of your throat, sliding lower in slow increments. Salty, syrupy and incredibly hard not to choke back up. He grabbed your skull, locking it in place, forcing you to down every last drop of him while he sluggishly pumped into you more, riding out the feeling for all it was worth. And just like that it was over. He shoved you backward, the luminous organ sloppily disconnected from your mouth, and you toppled into the snow, gasping for air. Turning over so that you faced the ground, you started to cough, and when you had finally rewarded your starving lungs with sufficent air, you looked to Sans to find him back in the state from before. Hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes resuming normalcy. He had already started to walk away. Leaving you by yourself.

“all i’m sayin’ kid. maybe it’s best ya don’t stay out too late after dark in these parts.”

He was already beyond the shop where you remained hidden, flushed and jelly-legged. Your core was burning in pressure and flame. The things he said from before played back to you over and over, and it made you hungry for something you couldn’t quite put a word to.

He hadn’t gone too far before punctuating himself with a drawling snicker, and a low and dangerous,

“or maybe ya should. get a feel for it and see what it's like.”

Finally finding the energy to move again, you abandoned your guitar in a fleeting instant, chasing after him onto the main path. What would you have done if you caught him? No telling, you were just so flustered, angry and lustful as all hell. Logic be damned.

But when you emerged from the shadows, he was gone.

He disappeared.

And he had left you with an _itch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone's gotta get Reader off.


	3. Papyrus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Theweakgirl. You run into Papyrus. He fucks you against his brother's hotdog stand.

Having retrieved your guitar from behind the building, you stumbled through the snow, wobbly, sticky everywhere you shouldn’t be, and with a tongue that was really overcompensating with saliva. You might have even started drooling when you realized you walked just a hair too far, and had passed Snowed Inn completely. Coming to a stop, you weighed your options, shivering, but not at all cold.

 

I can go up to my room, go to bed, wake up and pretend it was all a weird dream. Seriously, sucking Sans off in the middle of town? It happened not five minutes ago and already you were half-convinced it weren’t real and you had imagined the entire encounter.

 

Did the monster really mean what he said about all the others, and what they said about you? You thought on what they might have shared between the other specifically, the way they could dress your name down to sound sensual and provocative as Sans the skeleton implied. It made you shudder, a strange, emotionless sound flowing out of you with need.

 

The thing about sleeping in a hotel room with thin walls: Masturbation was no easy feat to conquer unless you all but devoured your shame and pretended the neighboring monsters were snoring too loudly to hear it. But that wasn’t who you were. Since coming down here and making your dreams all real, you hadn’t thought too much about sex, or feeling gratified at all yourself. It might have been a passing thought but never anything to dwell on for more than ten seconds. Yet now that primal edge to you was surfacing, _ screaming _ , what with the way Sans uprooted it and set you loose to sail. Your increasing thoughts had you aimlessly pressing forward, on a path that fell lopsided once or twice and might at some point have gone crooked. All you knew was the small houses and shops and markets had become blips in the withering distance, as you crossed into an area with lesser and lesser lamps, and indigo shade consumed you.

 

You glanced off to the side and noticed Sans’ hot dog stand. One of many, that is. It was abandoned and covered in a thick layer of frost, spotted with various condiment wrappers on the countertop that had long been opened and emptied. Thinking on its owner, you remembered the feeling of Sans’ cock pulsing inside your mouth, as well as his taste and smell. The way he made you swallow his cum. Your heart plummeted, and you had to look away.

 

Ahead of you was a figure that may or may not have been there before. Blurry from being too far, you squinted after it, cupping your eyes to shadow your surroundings and make it your prominent focus.

 

But by then, it, or _ he _ , was close enough to have reached out and knocked you down if he really wanted to.

 

“HUMAN!” the skeleton bellowed, his grainy and ferocious voice resounding like a bass in your chest. Very much like Sans’, though perhaps a wee bit more textured.

 

“Papyrus…? H-Hi,” you gulped, discovering it was incredibly hard to look another skeleton in the eye. Or...socket, at least. Papyrus was indeed the sibling of the monster who had just assaulted your mouth with no hint at mercy, taller, and sporting angular attire heavily reminiscent of supervillians from early morning cartoons. There were jagged marks that scarred one of his eye sockets and no one ever dared ask how he acquired them. And even in the muted grays and blues of eternal winter, his scarf, gloves, and boots, stark contrast as they were, were all so loudly red it almost hurt to look at.

 

You warred with your own self on whether or not to say something to him about Sans. The way you had drawled out his name in such an odd and unlike-you manner had him curious.

 

“IS THERE ANY PARTICULAR REASON YOU ARE OUT AT SUCH A LATE HOUR?” he inquired, a brow bone lifting while the other sank lower to mimic a noncommitted frown. Your answer to this was dirty with uncertainty; you had to clear your throat and try your best not to stare at his shoes, high, dramatic and lined with skull amulets as they were.

 

“Not any good reason, I guess I should say,” you confessed, eyes wandering in unsaid conflict. His eyes narrowed tightly, painting him devilish in comparison to the serene environment.

 

“YOU HAVE LIVED IN THESE PARTS LONG ENOUGH TO KNOW OF KING ASGORE’S CURFEW, HAVE YOU NOT?”

 

“I have, yes,” you cringed. Breaking curfew was not entirely your fault. You met his towering gaze meekly, speaking quietly. “I’m sorry. I have nothing but affection for the King, and it was never my intention to go against his rules.”

 

“AND YET HERE YOU STAND, DUMBLY AND EVER SO SUSPICIOUSLY, INSULTING HIS MAJESTY WITH YOUR MERE EXISTENCE IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.” The skeleton massaged his chin as you crossed your arms,slightly hurt. “ALAS, YOUR REPUTATION HERE PRECEDES YOU. WE HAVE SENT MONSTERS TO THE DUNGEON FOR LESS. SO WHEREVER DOES THAT LEAVE ME WITH YOU.”

 

This was absolutely unfair. Sure, it might have been your own doing to pass by the Inn, and you didn’t have it in you to cower behind the guise of being a rape victim, but Papyrus should know, shouldn’t he? You owed it to yourself, if not the Head of the Royal Guard.

 

“Papyrus,” you finally stated, nose tipped toward the air for bravery. “I think it’s only fair that I make you aware of-”

 

“WAIT JUST A MOMENT,” he interrupted you, leaning closer toward your face and inhaling deeply through his nasal passage. You couldn’t help but shrink, feeling small under his gaze. Why on earth was he doing that?

 

“HUMAN, I COMMAND YOU TO OPEN YOUR MOUTH.”

 

“What?” you recoiled, shock written over every inch of you. But that took far too long from Papyrus’ point of view and prompted him to take both sides of your face in his hand, pinching until your mouth was involuntarily pressed apart. He inhaled again, a concentrated look on him. You made a very confused sound amidst the ogling.

 

“HM. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN.” He said, releasing you, pushing you back away from him as if disgusted. You rubbed at your jaw; he seemed uncomprehending of his strength. 

 

“What is it?” you asked him, and he was insulted by the question.

 

“WHAT IS IT, YOU ASK? WHY, YOU SMELL DISTINCTLY LIKE MY BROTHER’S MAGIC, HUMAN.”

 

You didn’t quite process it right away.

 

“You…” you tried again, eyes fluttering. “You can  _ smell _ that?” You pointed toward your chest. “On me?”

 

“IT IS AN UNFORTUNATE TALENT OF MINE, I SUPPOSE YOU COULD SAY. SANS HAS ALWAYS HAD A PARTICULAR...FLAVOR OF MAGIC, THAT HE LEAVES IN NON-IDEAL PLACES LIKE THE CRETIN THAT HE IS,” the skeleton groaned his admission, remembering something off about his sibling that sent a very visible chill tumbling down his vertebrae. Then his gaze on you shifted unto something fresher and untamed. Out rolled the accusations.

 

“SO THAT IS WHY YOU ARE OUT AS OF NOW.”

 

You swallowed. He was taking this rather well, was he not? If he understood the full extent of his brother’s actions, then his reaction was underplayed to say the least.

 

“It certainly didn’t start that way,” you said. “I was heading back to my room at Snowed Inn when he and I crossed paths, and-”

 

“OH, A MORE TEXTBOOK EXPLANATION I SEE,” Papyrus exclaimed, sockets rounding with interest. “HUMAN, IS BEING A MUSICIAN NOT AS FINANCIALLY REWARDING AS YOU FORESAW? AND NOW YOU MUST SETTLE FOR MORE DEGRADING AND ATTAINABLE ENDEAVORS IF IT MEANS FOR HEAVIER COINS? I IMPLORE YOU TO BE HONEST WITH ME.”

 

You could hardly believe your ears. Was Papyrus suggesting you were a prostitute? And that you had sold yourself to his brother?

“No! That’s not it at all! Sans...uh how should I put this. He didn’t pay me? He didn’t give me anything in return.”

 

“NO COMPENSATION.” The monster was floored.

 

“N-No compensation,” you hunched your shoulders, tension growing tangible by the passing second. Your fear was that Papyrus would accuse his brother of taking advantage of you and open up a whole new can of worms that couldn’t be picked apart by shameful complexities in a court of law. But that was not his thought process at all.

“WELL IF THAT IS TO BE BELIEVED…” he rubbed his chin again, staring off into space before eyeing you with new purpose. You could see in the discipline that always colored his macabre features, something had come undone, and mischief quickly swelled in its place.

“THEN I SUPPOSE I CAN MAKE A DEAL WITH YOU.”

Now this you had to hear. You placed your hands on your hips, patiently waiting, expecting just about anything from community service to even dungeon-time. His next words all but completely bulldozed your calm demeanor.

“DESPITE BREAKING CURFEW, HUMAN, I CAN ACQUIT YOU OF YOUR CRIMES. OR BETTER PUT, I WILL GRANT YOUR RELEASE,” he couldn’t hold back the impending grin, “IF IN RETURN YOU PROVIDE _ ME  _ WITH RELEASE.”

Your eyes had become round as dinner plates. You stumbled backward, gawking at him disbelieving.

“What exactly are you saying, Papyrus?” But you knew the answer to this already.

“I AM SAYING THAT IT HAS BEEN A LONG NIGHT, I AM IN NO MOOD TO DRAG ANYONE TO ASGORE’S KINGDOM FOR IMPRISONMENT, I KNOW THAT A HUMAN SUCH AS YOURSELF WOULD NOT FARE WELL IN A DUNGEON SETTING, AND…” his own mitts met with his waist, replicating your mannerisms but in a much different way, “...I MUST BE TRUTHFUL. I HAVE RATHER WONDERED WHAT YOU FEEL LIKE, HUMAN. NOW IS MY CHANCE TO FINALLY QUELL THOSE CURIOSITIES.”

Your throat went bone dry, pun notwithstanding. Maybe Sans really was telling the truth earlier.

This was dirty. No, this was  _ filthy. _ Not even in your wildest, most untamed fantasies did you imagine something of this nature, and yet here it was playing out for you and you just couldn’t wrap your head around it. It was intimidating, the thought of another monster enveloping you in the same way as Sans, perhaps to an even greater extent. He wanted to  _ fuck _ you, after all. But just as before, you couldn’t deny that you hurt for something more. Something Sans did not give you.

What it was, you wouldn’t grace with any right word. Only painless way to describe it was  _ more. _

_ You need more. _

“Alright, Papyrus,” you said hesitantly, unable to even smile as nervousness had consumed you. “I-I’ll take you up on that offer.” After all, it was better than every other alternative, right? At least you were getting something in return, in more ways than just one.

Papyrus dipped his head, grin broadening, shoulders tightening so that he looked even stronger and rather boastful. “EXCELLENT.”

Before you could ask aloud how, when or  _ where _ he planned to do this, the skeleton reached down to grab your hand in a manner heavily reminiscent of his brother. Except whereas Sans had calmly coaxed you to follow him in hopes you wouldn’t run, Papyrus had nothing to hide, as his intentions were long made apparent to you. He dragged you to the hot dog stand from before with so much finesse you worried your arm and shoulder might disconnect, ripping the guitar from your back and placing it somewhere out of sight.

 

Taking you behind it, the monster bent you forward so that your middle was slammed against the countertop, the plastic of the condiment wrappers pressing through your clothes. Momentarily you couldn’t breathe from the angle your gut was compromised. You gasped when he started to tear your pants down, partially because it was freezing cold, but mostly because you were both being horribly public about this. Your toes curled in your boots, and you hissed his name.

“YOU MUST BE SILENT,” Papyrus ordered, which you thought was ridiculous as he was louder than you could ever hope to be, and anyone close enough would’ve undoubtedly heard. As much as you wanted to obey, you couldn’t hold in another cry when the skeleton painfully bent your arms behind your back, holding them together by the wrists. A click and a little bit of feeble struggling later, you balked. Your hands were tethered together by something you couldn’t see. The sound of metal scraping gave it away.

He had  _ handcuffed _ you.

“Papyrus, why on earth would you-?!”

But then a bit of your shirt was ripped, and later stuffed into your mouth. Wind hit that now bare square of skin. You thought about spitting the cloth out and screaming, but a more adventurous side of you submitted to Papyrus almost instantly, wondering what was to come next.

“UNTIL THIS AGREEMENT MEETS PROPER FRUITION, YOU ARE HEREBY UNDER ARREST.”

With weighted fingers he pressed the cloth deeper into your mouth until you almost choked, satisfied that you were under his control.

“AND THAT IS OBVIOUSLY SO NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU. I AM SURE YOU UNDERSTAND THIS IS RATHER OFF THE BOOKS.”

After that, the monster’s movements slowed considerably. When you expected to be painfully ravaged by him in the coming few seconds, you were instead shocked to feel him slowly, and even carefully pull your jeans lower until your ass was exposed to both him and the cool air. He took it in his gloves, massaging circular patterns into the muscle. You tried not to pierce the silence with muddled moaning, but then his hand reached lower, finding that area in between, and began to tenderly rub. After that there was no hope of keeping quiet.

It felt  _ good. _ Better than good, even. He seemed to know exactly what you wanted, and maybe even more. What really did you in was just how loving his behavior was. Of course he couldn’t love you, but the illusion of passion had your eyes closing, your head lolling forward before falling sideways in lethargic ecstasy. His careful ministrations cast burning embers in your loins. This could last forever and you wouldn’t complain.

“HOW IS THAT? YOU SEEM TO BE ENJOYING IT THUS FAR,” Papyrus commented, and you winced. Someone was bound to hear his shouting from afar, and yet you couldn’t find it in you to protest. Weakly you nodded, encouraging him to rub in harder, deeper motions, the cylinder shape of his bony fingers molding through the fabric of the gloves but never quite penetrating. His movements, in almost no time, began sliding with ease. You were wet, and even swelling down there. All for him, and all due to his ministrations.

Just when you started to grow hungry for more, he moved his hand away. Replacing it instead was the undeniable feeling of a cock, unbridled and without clothing as a barrier, pressing against your labia, rubbing back and forth to collect any wetness that would make access less harmful. You started whining, and the monster loved how your sounds were clouded with restraint.

Without awaiting your vocal green light, and without much warning at all, he slowed to a halt before taking both sides of your hips and pushing his length all the way into you. You drew out a long cry in tandem with the movement, sucking it back in when he hilted, only to sigh it out again in a voice that drifted like broken butterflies. You were absolutely filled, in the most painful, beautiful way. He might have waited three seconds for you to adjust before starting a rhythm that, despite being gentle, rocked you back and forth.

“OHO, HUMAN,” the monster said behind you, voice drawn low but still hard enough to carry like a treble drum. “OH HUMAN. HUMAN THIS IS. OH MY,” his momentum picked up at a steady pace that didn’t go unnoticed. Your eyes had started to water, moans hitching with pleasure.

“I SHOULD HAVE DONE THIS MUCH SOONER. IT IS AMAZING. INVIGORATING.” His gloved fingers raked at your hips, gripping firmly with need, stationing you so that you didn’t slip away. You were almost grateful there was something to gag you, because you were quite literally at a loss for what to say. But Papyrus didn’t mind the absence of conversation one bit.

“MY BONEHEAD BROTHER MENTIONED YOU FREQUENTLY IN OUR HOME. WE BOTH TOOK A LIKING TO YOU AFTER YOUR FIRST SHOW. HE, OF COURSE, WAS DISGUSTINGLY,” a hard thrust of his pelvic bone, and you choked,  _ “OBVIOUS _ ABOUT WANTING YOU. AND WHILE I DID NOT ENTERTAIN HIS FANTASIES, IN PRIVATE I SHARED EQUAL SENTIMENT. YOU ARE,” he was going faster now, unbelievably so, and taking full strokes, “ABSOLUTELY A PRIZE.”

You weren’t sure how much longer Papyrus would last at this rate. His breathing was growing haggard, voice slightly fragmented, flaking apart at the ends. He started grunting as his member pushed in and out, in and out, eventually finding an apex in speed and strength that could no longer gain. You realized, with exhilarating shame, that you could come too. If only he lasted a few more minutes.

In piss-poor timing, Papyrus, very theatrical as he was, pulled his cock out of you, leaving you empty, dripping, screaming into the fabric as you wanted so badly for him to continue. The monster flipped you around to face you, lifting you so that you sat on the counter, legs spread, shaking with desire. You saw Papyrus’ cock for the first time, erect and throbbing. Very similar in color to his brother’s, though where Sans could brag girth, his brother had enough length for both siblings combined. Your eyes sparkled at the sight of it, and you couldn’t help but gaze up at Papyrus, dazed and doe-eyed.

Why did he stop?

The Head of the Royal Guard summoned a crimson red bone from the air. As something conceived through the cosmic forces of magic, it levitated in place before finding sanctuary in Papyrus’ grasp. You noticed its aura blurred at the edges, and when you both fell disturbingly silent, your eyes widened when you picked up on the smallest of sounds.

 

It was  _ vibrating. _

Papyrus, a wicked glimmer in his hollow eyes, lowered the bone toward your clitoris as though he were performing brain surgery, before it finally made contact with the hood. Your whole body jolted, and you whimpered. Like a wick set alight, your cries resumed. He pushed into you more, and at the same time, entered your pussy with masterful force, thrusting again and again.

“I ASSUME SANS DID NOT SEE TO IT THAT YOU WERE SATISFIED.”

You looked Papyrus in the face, flush, shaking your head over and over. He was absolutely right. This meant that running into him had been the best thing for you in the end. You were breathing so heavily, your body aching, that coil in your belly pressing tighter and tighter. You looked down to watch the way he penetrated you, the way the magic bone stimulated you. The way your body was colored in ominous red. It was a picture you would hold in your memory forever, just because it was that good.

“YOU ARE LUCKY HUMAN, THAT I LIKE TO WATCH MY MATES WRITHE IN PLEASURE. AND IT IS ESPECIALLY NICE TO HEAR SUCH A LOVELY VOICE MOAN THE WAY YOU DO.”

Your mind turned foggy, reserving room only for images of Papyrus, and even Sans dropped by to snicker at those fine edges that tapered off into dark nothingness. Realizing that both brothers had you in the same night, that they both wanted you, wracked you with even more pleasure. Overwhelmed, you felt your vagina start to pulse, the muscles contracting.

You were going to orgasm. You made this obvious in the rhythm of your voice.

“YES, YES. EASY DOES IT NOW,” Papyrus squinted his sockets at you, a crazed smile plastering his skull, and you moaned louder, shorter. “COME FOR ME, YOU PATHETIC HUMAN. LET IT HAPPEN. COME FOR ME RIGHT NOW.”

It crashed into you like an angry ocean wave. You screamed silently, pulling him in tighter, your back arching so far that it almost found his chest. In turn he growled down at you, and an instant later you felt something warm filling up your core. He didn’t stop pumping until the last of it was dribbling down onto the counter, as you were overfilled.

 

Tingling, you collapsed sideways, only catching a short glimpse of Papyrus as his cock had disappeared into nothingness. Your head might have been laying on several mustard and ketchup packets, and that was okay.

 

Papyrus, breathless, moved away, laughing to himself. Or maybe to you. Maybe _ at  _ you? The way you were sprawled across the countertop of a hotdog stand?

 

“AS REWARD FOR FULFILLING YOUR END OF THE BARGAIN,” Papyrus decreed, “I WILL RELIEVE YOU OF YOUR CRIMES, AND ALSO GRANT YOU PERMISSION BY THE KINGDOM TO SPEND THE REST OF THE NIGHT HOWEVER YOU PLEASE. BE IT HOME, OR OUT HERE IN THE NIGHT.”

 

The sound of snow crunching under his shoes alerted a pleasure-drunken you, and you sat up straight, watching as he melted away. 

 

It wasn’t until several moments later, after the glow had collectively simmered, that your heart dropped to your stomach.

  
Papyrus had left you in handcuffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now who's around to get those handcuffs off?


	4. Grillby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for disappearing. Was extremely busy around Christmas time being a retail worker n all, and I also got caught up working on other stories that hadn't been updated in ages. But I didn't forget this one. In fact it's quickly becoming my favorite one to update. So here, have at it.
> 
> Requested by melodyrider, Theweakgirl, Whatevers, Punny_Fan, FanOfLotsOfFandoms, Glytchy, kixxy23, and Starfire1408. Damn you guys overwhelm me in the best way.
> 
> Oh yeah speaking of: You go to Grillby for help with the handcuffs. He fucks you against the bar and a surprise guest comes to watch.

Your stubborn spirits had since dwindled, drifted south to join your footsteps in the snow. Grasp as you might with withered strength, and both hands bound behind you, you struggled for the guitar, rejecting that nagging voice that told you it might be best to leave it. Biting your lip, tasting a moment’s worth of sweat, you lamented on how the instrument had likely been knocked out of tune and would sound like a dying frog next time you played it, what with the way it’d been man-handled thus far. The way _you_ had been man-handed.

 

Thus far.

 

And then the world started spinning faster. In came a rush of conflict, emotions and impulses blindsiding you from left and right.

 

As famished as you were for honest, easy answers, you couldn’t quite shake the one question that mocked you most of all. _What do I do now?_ There was this aching fire in your loins that had grown and grown, manifested into an entity that wanted so badly to misbehave some more. You were satisfied to an extent…but you also weren’t. Even more depraving, it was somewhat intoxicating. Your mental exhaustion was quick to challenge it from afar. Were you enjoying this night at all, or hating it and wishing it would come to an end? Did you want to go home or continue the adventure just a while longer and see where it goes? How long it could possibly last?

 

As you tried to reach backwards and take the strap without looking, you heard the bottom fragment of the case scraping rocks beneath the snow as you tested dragging it through two or so feet of distance. Cringing, you leaned your body back awkwardly to rest it in place again, giving up until a better option came forward. Before searching for selfish and existential answers to your situation, perhaps it was in your best interest to free yourself. Pulling your pants back on had been a task in-of itself, but you couldn’t be expected to perform other basic functions and go about life like nothing were afoot until the handcuffs came off. Papyrus had the key for sure, and he had disappeared to who knows where. A cynical part of you suspected it might have even been done on purpose as a cruel joke. How do you go on from there? What other monster could possibly aid you, and at this hour? You could go back to the Inn, but the bunny there wouldn’t be able to do much for you. They didn’t exactly have lock picks at the front desk. Only toothbrushes and razors.

  
Trusting that your guitar would not be stolen from you should you venture backward just a hair, you looked toward the shops again hoping to catch any sign of activity from other restless monsters. As your eyes traversed the area, you stilled, noticing a violet light of sorts lolling back and forth within one of the ones near the plaza. Every other building was smothered in shadow and winter snow, but this one differed in that someone was clearly awake and moving inside, maybe holding a lantern as they hobbled about. A couple more steps in its direction and you stalled, mouth dropping.

Grillby’s!

Of course, how had you not thought of this sooner? This was the one place in almost all of the underground that could actually boast late hours. It was a bar after all. You had performed there a number of times and so you knew the owner who doubled as the bartender, Grillby, rather well. He complimented your talents when the timing was appropriate and gave you funny drinks now and then. It suddenly made a world of sense why the light inside was purple. Grillby’s was closed for sure, but he was likely still cleaning up after another night of debauchery, being he was the business’ only known staffer. It may be asking a bit too much of him to get chains off your wrists, but there wasn’t anything else you could do.

You took the guitar by its strap again and tried moving through the area, instrument in tow, soundlessly as possible. To comfort the lonesome dark, there was an affirmation in the back of your mind that unlike before, no one accompanying you from the shadows, and you could move from point A to point B without feeling like someone would attack you.

Not that you…particularly _minded_ Sans’ attack. Or Papyrus’, if that could classify as an attack as well. It was interesting to say the least.

Oh goodness, what were you thinking?

You managed to make it to Grillby’s, your guitar having led a clean trail through the snow right up to the door. You realized upon pushing your body into it that it was locked. Why wouldn’t it be? Swallowing your pride, you kicked it a few times, gently, but with enough strength to make noise, and waited with bated breath until it finally pulled inward. A purple flame leaked out in the dark seam between the two surfaces.

“We’re closed. Get out of here, or wait outside ‘til morning. I got drinks that’ll cure the hypothermia,” a cold, almost quiet voice hissed after you, unseeing, uncaring of who you were until you cleared your throat.

“Grillby? Hi sorry, it’s me, Y/N. Sorry to be a bother.”

He had already been going to shut the door when it paused, and then opened wider. He poked his head out, white eyes landing on you. A carnivorous smile formed on his face, like something you’d carve into pumpkins.

“Well what do we have here?” he asked mockingly, voice never raising an octave too high.

He said your name back to you, dressing it in query. You nodded before awkwardly turning to show him your hands.

“I know you’ve already shut down for the day, but I’m in a bit of a predicament and couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

When Grillby noticed your handcuffs, it was interesting to see all the encrypted questions zip past an expression that was whited out and without irises. The bespectacled monster furrowed his brow at you, flames atop his head fluctuating all the while.

You huffed when he didn’t immediately offer to help. Worrying that he might make the wrong assumptions, you quickly cleared things up for him. “I’m not an escaped convict of any sort. You can ask Papyrus when you see him next. It’s…a long story. I was just wondering if you could help me,” you cursed yourself after realizing you had alluded to your interaction with the Head of the Royal Guard not twenty minutes ago. Grillby still didn’t budge, until you shivered at the cold. Metal on your wrists did little to make it any better. With a sigh that saw embers, he opened the door and beckoned you inside. You hadn’t noticed him casting the area a cautious glare before closing it behind you, as you were too busy profusely thanking him. Your guitar came dragging in after you. The bartender didn’t even offer to take it for you.

Inside the bar, there were no lanterns or active candles, meaning shadows twisted and took phantasmagoric forms as Grillby moved about being he was the only light. You followed after him, warmer now and hungrily chasing his trailing heat.

“I wouldn’t normally do this for just anyone,” he said insistently while guiding you to a barstool. Once you were sat on top, he disappeared behind you, picking the binding up and moving it around as if gauging the material.

You smiled, even when he couldn’t see it. “I really do appreciate you doing this for me. I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.”

You kept silent then, and waited. Hoping at any moment you would be free. But unfortunately that didn’t happen, and impatience was near immediate.

“Is something wrong?” you inquired in a shamefully tiny voice. The flaming monster hummed to himself, releasing your hands.

“I’ll take care of the chain, and in exchange I want you to play a song for me.”

Caught off guard for only two seconds, you realized rather quickly that his proposal was tamer in every way compared to the one Papyrus had offered. This would even give you a great opportunity to tune your guitar. Hell, you suspected now that Sans’ declaration of the insatiable lust every monster in the Underground had for you had been hyperbolic, maybe only restricted to him and his brother.

But when you agreed to it out loud, you realized suddenly that you almost sounded…disappointed. In small increments hidden in the crosshatchings of your voice.

You would dwell on that another time.

Grillby disappeared behind you. There was an intense heat along your hands that almost frightened you, as you worried you might be burned. But just as soon as it came, it was gone. You turned around, wrists free, rubbing away the soreness in your joints just in time to watch Grillby dispose of the glowing metal outside in the snow. You swallowed when you heard him lock the door again. He hadn’t done that before, had he?

“Alright, now your ticket out of here is seeing to your end of the bargain, Y/N,” Grillby’s demands were soft but concrete. As you retrieved your guitar from its frosted case, examining it for damages, you smirked crookedly at him.

“What if I want to stay here with you all night, Grillbs?”

His eyes became bloated stars at that. You waved your hand after him to show you were only kidding.

“Not sure it’d be good business to keep prisoners here after hours,” was his only stale remark.

“Prisoners?” you choked on laughter. “I’m not a prisoner. I told you it was nothing like that.”

“No no. You’re _my_ prisoner until you do your part,” the monster insisted, seemingly joking but his voice carried a very real and weighted threat. Gulping, you quickly swung the guitar over your head and laid it on your lap, a clumsy smile still dressed along your face. Once back on the barstool, you plucked away at a few strings, tuning them, realizing you were actively avoiding his gaze. You knew what he wondered, and his next question was confirmation.

“Tell me Y/N, whatever happened to you? I’m curious to know how you came to be this way,” Grillby voiced his ghostly command with all the strength of a small flame congregated by grease puddles. You shook your head, hoping your flush wasn’t noticeable in the lavender lighting.

“It’s a long story, Grillby.”

“Well we have all the time we need for stories of any length, shape or form.”

You winced at that. “Telling you a story wasn’t part of the deal.”

Just like that he dropped the subject, and you released a huge sigh through your nose, thankful for his mercy. How hard would it be to tell a bartender on fire that you had just been done getting fucked by a skeleton, and that’s why you had ended up restrained?

Once properly tuned, your fingers softly drummed on the interface as you pondered on what song to sing for him. You tweaked one string with your pick and then two to make a chord. The monster absentmindedly wiped away at an empty glass while watching you. His smile, though closed, glowed white and you might have mistaken the outline of fangs at the edges.

When it struck you what to play, you gave him a cautious glance, smirking, coughing into the back of your hand before poising your hands atop the instrument. You looked down to watch your fingers dance about the strings, picking all the while. You opened your mouth, voice seeping out as one smooth ribbon.

”Listen for a moment lads and hear me tell my tale. How over the sea from England shore I was condemned to sail. The jury found me guilty, sir and said the judge, said he, "For life, Jim Jones, I sentence you across the stormy sea."

A smile became your mask. For the first time in a year you felt the prancing steps of stage fright on your spine. _Why?_ Heaven knows. You idly played the same pair of notes over and over, laughing quietly. Shyly.

“Sorry Grillby. My voice isn’t up to par tonight.”

He had long set the glass down and waved your admission off, prompting you to continue as he stood glaring at you from across the room. He never confirmed nor denied the notion. Just wanted to hear some more, and so you obliged him.

’But take my tip before you ship to join the iron gang. Don't be too gay in Botany Bay or else you'll surely hang. "Or else you'll surely hang," says he. "And after that, Jim Jones, high up upon the gallows tree the crows will pick your bones.”

You started to drift into the spirit of your music, eyes closing as you envisioned the snowy night beyond those walls, and then higher up, dressed in white and sleepy blues was the mountaintop where you had fallen. You had been hiking that night, looking for a spot to play alone without disturbance or critiquing ears. You’d only looked over your shoulder a moment, when you thought you heard someone whisper your name from behind, only to plummet down the hole and into the underground where these monsters thrived.

As you were pulled deeper into the song, Grillby started coasting toward you. You pretended not to notice, but as his violet ambiance crested beyond the sanctity that shut eyelids could provide, you felt a tingle in your neck. Your voice strained slightly. You tried with everything in you to pretend he wasn’t there, until it became impossible.

“Grillby,” you sounded exasperated, but still kept to the tempo of the song as you spoke, “What are you doing now?”

When you gazed up at the monster, he was staring hard at you, an unreadable expression cast in those mysterious eyes that swam with smoky energy. He didn’t stop moving, not even when you furrowed your brow at him to show confusion. He kept coming toward you. You played impulsively as if nothing were different, but you couldn’t sing properly under the rising pressure.

“Just keep going,” he ushered you to carry on, ignoring your question. His hand lifted in your direction slowly, and you winced, swallowing your protests, trying your best to start another verse. You nodded, but with just as little confidence as before.

“You'll have no chance for mischief there, remember what I say. They'll flog the poaching out of you out there in Botany Bay. The waves were high upon the sea, the wind approached in gales. I'd rather drowned in misery than gone to New South Wa- _ah_! _Grillby!”_

Your frustrations had been set alight by a new and wicked flame. Grillby, with mischief in his narrowed eyes, had dipped a near searing hand down into the front of your pants, minding the guitar, ignoring the tremor in your speech, to _rub._ Uncomfortably suffocating you in closeness, the bartender felt at the nub between your legs, humming low to himself. You tried to stand up when he placed a hand to your shoulder and stopped you.

“You want to leave don’t you?” he asked tauntingly, and you bit your lip as the soft embers of pleasure set a fire in your center. He may not have cast you with physical restraints, but the ghosting threat that he wouldn’t let you leave made you anxious all over. When you nodded with fluster in your movement, he snickered. “Well then keep singing. Don’t let me distract you.”

Shakily, you tried to continue through to the next verse even as he massaged between your legs. The feeling of it was almost dangerous. It wasn’t as hot as fire, and you noticed that the flames leading up his wrist were a dimmer, drowsier purple compared to the rest of him. He must’ve been able to cool himself accordingly, so you wouldn’t get burned. But it still felt like a weapon of sorts was pressed to you, rubbing back and forth. Your words crumbled with the increasing pace in his movements. He watched you carefully as you came undone. You couldn’t believe this was really happening. A third monster was going to have his way with you also? Where were you to draw the line?

As you completed another line with gritted teeth and a melody that was quickly melting into moans, Grillby rewarded you by inserting his finger, and you howled silently, sobbing once as he combed the finger toward himself while using his thumb to press circular patterns against your clitoris. At first there was discomfort, but slowly, softly, pleasure edged its way in. You could feel the odd press of skin and flame every moment or so, and noticed how each encounter between the two was stickier than the last. He pumped the finger at a steady pace, smirking when you bit down unto your lower lip, eyes hooded with lust. The hand you had been playing with slumped forward, and now notes were being missed.

To your horror, the more mistakes you made, the more he slowed. You pleaded his name once, and even with nothing said, you could tell by his expression what he wanted.

_The better you play, the better he’ll make you feel._

As you clung to what little of your composure remained, you suffered through to the song’s completion, the scales of which had become asphyxiated and strange. You played the guitar at varying levels of volume, singing lines, some of which came out clean while others were strained and borderline insane. Grillby pleasured you all the while; at some points he mistakenly pressed into your g-spot, and your eyes would go spacey, a loud whimper escaping you that you quickly hid under the guise of being some extravagant note.

“…Botany Bay…” the final line crumbled from you in erratic fashion. Breathless, you dropped your pick to the floor, staring into Grillby’s eyes with eager curiosity. _There._ You had done your part. You had finished, but then again…not _really._ You hadn’t quite found a crest yet amidst the feel-good touching, but you knew you might very well come close. And that’s why you might have gasped, completely appalled and unfulfilled, when Grillby removed his hand. Was he going to send you on your way now?

No.

The monster hurriedly yanked his pants down to free his erection, and you had little time to marvel in the shape and motion of it as he had grabbed the guitar from you, yanked it over your head and set it aside in a manner that wore aggression but withered on damaging. He took you by the sides of your coat to lift you on the bar, and you yelped. His hands were back to being true fire, and they carelessly ashed the material. You could smell it. You could briefly _feel_ it before he remembered you were but a feeble human and cooled them yet again, expression doing little to even acknowledge his mistake.

“And you thought we were done here.”

He pulled your pants completely off. You blinked, and in one swift motion they were first at your knees, then your ankles, then across the room in a dark corner where you couldn’t find them. As he pulled your legs apart, and your breathing grew rapid with anticipation, you stared wide-eyed at the monster’s cock.

It was a _flame._ The same color as him, except maybe not quite as transparent. There was a solidity to it that different from the rest of his body, but it danced and flickered and behaved very much like any fire.

His hands were pressed into your thighs to keep them from closing. He came forward, hissing something naughty to you that you couldn’t make out as you were too busy watching him breach your entrance with just a simple, flitting touch of himself. The tip was dim; it did not scorch your skin, but it was very hot. You looked up at him again, watching how his smile stretched farther, crooked at several points, and just as you thought to tell or ask something of the bartender, you instead squealed. His cock was swirling around your vagina, up and down, side to side, in misbehaved choreography that had no rhyme or reason. The sensation was like that of a pulsing tongue with the temperature of a stove that had cooled for at least half an hour. He kept at it for what must’ve been three minutes. You panted, reaching for him, his bowtie, his collar, but never his face. From behind his glasses the monster bounced unseen brows at you.

“We always knew you were a little whore.”

With swollen eyes, you found purchase in grabbing him by either side of his collar, digging your nails into the fabric and hissing, whining as his pelvis rotated so that his cock teased you from all directions. With fluttering features, you mumbled a small noise of confusion, to which he laughed, his face manic and satisfied.

“Oh, how I’ve wanted so bad to be inside you. I’ve _dreamed_ it.”

To punctuate the word, Grillby thrusted forward and his penis captured you, shoving inside, still writhing about as it explored your throbbing wetness. It wasn’t too deep, again, very much like a tongue. You clenched around it, screaming, euphoria peeking at you from afar. The flaming monster hissed once more before detangling your fingers from his clothes with a rough push away. He took both your legs and threw each one over his shoulder, hooking you to him. The feeling of his member swirling around inside you made you gasp, cry out, and pant his name in broken syllables. When he smiled and leaned down, yanking your jacket up to lap at one of your breasts with a glowing tongue, you squealed. Your head was thrown back. As he lazily thrusted, that crest within you started to violently swell. Already? _Already._ Your constant moans alerted Grillby as to what was about to happen and he quickly pulled out of you.

Shaking, achy and wanting nothing more than to be filled again, you looked toward him confused, blushing when you realized just how exposed you were, being without pants and your shirt and coat bunched up under your chin. The bartender admired your nakedness while pumping himself to stay erect. His eyes swept over you and cast a wave of dominance.

“Do you want me to fuck you, human?” Grillby asked, biting his tongue as if deriving pleasure just from seeing the delirious shock written on your face. You nodded several times, maybe even pleaded quietly. He stroked himself quickly, and did not reenter.

“How badly?” he asked, lifting a dimmer hand to knead at a single one of your breasts. Mewling, you reached down to touch yourself, ready to do anything to quell that burning ache in your nether region. You gasped when he took your wrist, ceasing you. Hesitant but desperate for release, you gave him what he wanted. Quivering all the while.

 _“Very_ badly,” you said, and you sounded so broken.

“Who do you want to fuck you?” he tacked on.

“I want _you_ to fuck me...”

“Oh do you now?” one of his brows raised as if impressed. Exasperated, you gave it another try.

“I want _you_ , _Grillby,_ to _fuck_ me!”

And suddenly he was inside you again, and the sensation was overwhelming. You might have screamed. He dipped his head lower and took your nipple in his mouth, sucking, thrusting softly, hitting just the right spots and angles. His teeth bit down gently to ghost you with pain. Your vision turned to pixels at the edges, as that had just about done it. You were about to orgasm. You could taste it. Smell it on yourself.

Just a little more…!

Yes…

_Yes…_

“ey! grillbz you in ‘ere?”

The noise that you swallowed down next sounded almost inhuman. Some crossbred monstrosity of anger, arousal, and curiosity all at once. Grillby kept his cock swirling within your pulsing walls, but lifted his head, freeing your nipple, and looked off to the side.

And then you processed something horrifying.

Someone was here.

And worse, you _knew_ that voice.

In quite the unceremonious entrance, Sans appeared to your right. Flew out from some area that only was permitted by employees, hands in his pockets, anticlimactically bored. When he got there, how he got there without either of you noticing was a mystery.

“i got a bone to pick with you,” he snarled in that haggard voice of his, gaze plastered on Grillby. When you caught sight of the skeleton, his eyes wore this offset frustration before averting to settle on you. Immediately his posture changed; the fist he had raised as if to challenge or reprimand the bartender fucking you went flat.

You paled at the eye contact he made with you. He then looked to Grillby, and you did the same. There was a weighted silence. The only sound was of Grillby’s pelvis hitting your skin, and the wet sounds of sex.

He wasn’t stopping.

“Sans, bother me another time, will you? As you can see I’m a little busy,” he growled, focusing on you as he said it. Your high had been momentarily interrupted, and for an instant you could think with newfound clarity. Your eyes darted between the two monsters staring at you, and you yelped.

Grillby was still screwing you good, and Sans had come in and caught you. Now he was watching.

The saucy little chuckle that fell from the bony monster next made your ears physically burn with redness. “ah, my bad pal. should’a knocked or somethin’,” he noted, coming closer to the both of you. He examined you from above like you were some science project with a weird equation to you. It put him off, but also excited him.

“tryin’ out the human for yourself i see,” he said, every word of his stretched thin with a smile. “i can respect that. ain’t she somethin’ though? didn’t get to fuck the little femme myself but i can say from experience she knows how to work a cock good.”

“Trust me I _know,”_ Grillby belted next, fiendishly, as if goaded on in knowing you had been shared between he and a comrade. “And she was just about to come too.”

Sans raised his brow bones. “oh yea? huh. i kinda missed out on that earlier. that’s somethin’ i’d like to see.”

You gasped. _“No!”_

You struggled to stand up, but Grillby shoved you backward with one hand, using the other to pinch and tweak at the nipple he had been abusive with earlier. You shook your head over and over in complaint. “I don’t want you to _both_ see me like this together!”

“why not?”

“Indeed. Don’t complain, human. Just take it. Let me make you feel good. Sans’ll see it happen with me, and I know you’ll _love_ it.”

“P-Please!” you fought his restraint, yet couldn’t deny that the overbearing gaze from both Sans and Grillby somehow drove you wild, and knowing there was nothing you could do about him pleasuring you, filling you up with this beautiful, lively inferno of violet that seemed to behave of its own accord, while Sans stared after you, judging you for the whore that you were…

It was so fucking _good_.

Your climax approached you with newfound resurgence. You squirmed in place, even as Grillby held you taut to keep you from escaping. Sans didn’t seem turned on by the act at face value, but you didn’t miss the way he momentarily cupped his package, growling hungrily, and then all the feelings and touches and even pain of it brought you to a screaming orgasm. You came undone, completely shattered, your high bursting and becoming a lovely spectrum of color that melted downward inside you. You might have even physically squirted, for both Grillby and Sans made a noise in tandem, followed by the latter remarking, “wow, little slut really enjoyed that one. good job friend.”

There were tears in your eyes. Not from hurt, or even degradation. And yet one couldn’t really mark them as tears of joy. But there was a positive energy buzzing within them, that blurred and dazzled your eyes and poisoned your mind even further. The world became a hazy mess of lavender and a muddled conversation between the two monsters that was casual had nothing to do with you. As if you weren’t really there. Just as you started to come out of it, and were able to comprehend words as more than just mental slobber, you saw that Sans was gone. His retreating footsteps could be heard from behind. He said something about respecting Grillby too much to watch him blow his load, and promptly went on his way.

A door slammed, and then it was just you and the bartender again. He was still going, and it felt a little _too_ good. Painful, almost. You could feel the overstimulation of it stabbing you over and over in the gut. You tried to press your hands to his chest, but the monster grabbed your wrists and held them still, muttering in a horrifying lowness, _“Don’t you fucking dare.”_

Maybe ten seconds of beautiful agony and the fiery specter began grunting with each thrust. He swore to himself several times, each one building to a crescendo before he hastily pulled his member from you and a sparkling fluid shot from it, landing on your stomach, pooling inside your navel.

As he came down from it, the monster panted with you until he was positively spent. You both stared at the sticky, syrupy white that was now dressing you. He shook his cock a few times to make sure every last drop of him had been emptied, before he stepped away to pull his pants over him, shielding himself once more. You almost did the same before freezing, realizing you were a mess, covered in both his sperm and your own sweat.

Grillby, saying nothing, vanished from the side while you gave the door ahead a thousand yard stare, comprehending what had just happened. Trying your best to process it with misty senses.

The monsters here really did want you that bad.

And to make it worse, you wanted them back. You were sure of it. Already, that lust was flourishing again.

You wanted _all_ of them. You’d make it your mission.

Tonight was about to get really interesting.

When Grillby reappeared, he had napkins in tow that he handed you so you could towel yourself off, smearing away both his fluids and your own. After you finished and set them aside on the bar, you found that he had retrieved your pants, passing them to you. And then thrust in your hand was a heavy bottle that sloshed with liquid. Presumably full of wine.

“Take this with you, as my way of saying thanks,” he said, tone unreadable. “And also an apology for ruining your jacket. That was an accident on my part.”

Oh right. Each side of your jacket had been charred with black handprints, scars for what had just taken place. You took the pants first, pulling them on, and then the bottle. It wasn’t labeled. Perhaps some sort of magical mysterious concoction of his that you thought against asking about.

When you looked to Grillby again, you tried to channel something sincere. It seemed appropriate, but then again not. Instead, the bartender rewarded you with a vacant stare as you quietly took your guitar, before bidding you farewell with naught but an amused smile on his flaming face.

“Get out of here,” he insisted, leading you to the door until you were back out in the cold.

“We’re _closed.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used in this chapter is called Jim Jones at Botany Bay, and I had the version sung by Jennifer Jason Leigh in mind when writing the scene. I wouldn't recommend looking it up unless you've seen Hateful Eight, because then you might associate the song with getting fucked by fire in this shite little fanfiction. It's a good movie. Watch if you have a strong stomach.
> 
> Alright well. Reader's got a bottle of wine now. Who to share it with?


End file.
